


Hanging Around

by Salazar101



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Gun Fighting, M/M, Pre-Canon, shackles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:15:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22428457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salazar101/pseuds/Salazar101
Summary: In the process of hiding from the law, John and Arthur find a basement that has fur-lined shackles in it.  John ends up testing them out.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 125





	Hanging Around

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd fic, forgive me. Written to try and break a writer's block on another big fic!
> 
> It didn't work!
> 
> But I hope everyone enjoys this anyway!
> 
> Tumblr: [ohgodsalazarwhy](https://ohgodsalazarwhy.tumblr.com/)  
> Twitter:[ NoviceSalazar](https://twitter.com/NoviceSalazar)

The stagecoach robbery was supposed to be an easy one. John had sworn up and down that it was unguarded for this long stretch of road in the middle of nowhere. Well it  _ had _ been unguarded until a entire fucking army of lawmen had rode up transporting a prisoner. John, Arthur, Mac, and Davey had stared at the lawmen, their masks up, guns out, John’s arms elbow deep in the wagon’s lock box... and the lawmen stared right back.

The startled stillness hadn’t lasted more than half a second but it felt like an eternity before Mac raised his gun and shot one of the guys clean off their horse. John ran for his horse, one he hadn’t even gotten a chance to name yet because he’d  _ just _ stolen it from a few towns back. He had an armful of cash and bonds which he shoved into his saddle bag before mounting up. Bullets were whizzing past him as John fumbled out his own gun and started to fire back.

“You really screwed this up!” Arthur yelled as the four of them ran for it, law hot on their heels, returning every shot.

“This ain’t my fuckin’ fault!” John yelled back furiously, no doubt as soon as they got back to camp Dutch and Hosea were going to hear about how John’s tip had turned into a firefight.

“Your tip, your fault!” said Davey, twisting in his saddle and shooting wildly, hitting one of the horses instead of one of the lawmen. The horse crashed down and the lawman rolled to get away only to have one of his own comrades trample him.

“Shut the fuck up!” John snarled, “I don’t see you bringing in tips, and we still got money!”

“Oh yeah, how much money?” Mac challenged. It was amazing they had all this time to rag on him while they were still in the middle of a firefight and running for their lives.

“I’m sorry I didn’t exactly have time to count it!” John yelled so loud his voice cracked.

“ENOUGH!” Arthur roared, and that shut them all up. “We gotta split up! Marston, with me!”

John wanted to protest, he was old enough to be splitting from the group like Mac and Davey were, each of them galloping off in opposite directions, but now wasn't the time to argue. John followed Arthur, and now the lawmen had to either split into three smaller groups or just focus on one of them.

They split into three smaller groups, probably the worst mistake they could have made. Arthur was a crack shot even while on a galloping horse, and John had been trained by Arthur. He twisted in his saddle with his repeater and fired shot after shot, missing some but hitting enough. Arthur didn’t ever seem to miss. Bastard.

They rode into the woods, leaving a trail of bodies and riderless horses behind them. John’s ears were ringing something fierce as he followed Arthur deeper and deeper into the trees, the silence seemed twice as loud as the gun fight had been.

“Where we goin’?” John complained after they’d been riding for what felt like hours.

“Wherever it’s safe to lie low,” said Arthur from up ahead, his eyes hidden by the brim of his hat as he helped his mount pick her way through the forest underbrush. John just let his horse crash through things as it pleased, but Arthur had always been a very particular rider. A very particular  _ man _ , really. Ready to brawl at the drop of a hat but also willing to sit down and draw in one of his journals to record the sunset or whatever bullshit he was doing.

Arthur was strong, brash, and handsome. John would never say it out loud because he’d never live it down, but if he could just be half as aggressively competent as Arthur then he’d be happy. Dutch and Hosea may have raised him, but Arthur, more than anyone else, had formed him into the man he was today. John was pulled from his daydreaming about Arthur when his horse collided with Arthur’s horse.

“Watch where you’re going, Marston,” Arthur snapped, pulling the reins on his mare as she spooked a bit.

“What the hell are you doin’ just stoppin’ without warning!” John replied, getting his horse to back up a little.

“I think I see something through the trees,” said Arthur, jutting his chin out to their right.

John squint and then finally saw what looked like a mossy wall. He shared a look with Arthur and they both dismounted at once. John hitched his horse to a nearby branch and drew his pistol, following Arthur carefully through the trees. The closer they got the clearer it was that the building was completely abandoned. Arthur holstered his revolver and John followed his lead.

“No roof,” Arthur said, stepping around the mossy wall.

John followed and was disappointed to see that what had once been a fairly nice cabin was now falling in on itself. To the point where it’d be dangerous to sleep inside of it. John let Arthur stand there with his hands on his hips while he walked around the building. At the back of the building John’s boot caught on the edge of a root and sent him crashing into the brush with a yell.

“Goddammit, Marston,” Arthur growled, storming around the building towards him, “lead the law right to us, why don’t you!”

“There’s no law here,” John said, and as he pushed himself up some dirt and branches were pushed aside to show... a door! A door to a cellar!

“You have no idea if they’re on our trail or not you idiot, Marston, you’re gonna get us both hung--”

“Arthur!” John reached out and tugged on his jeans, “look!”

“I just--oh... would you look at that,” Arthur’s bitching changed to a pleased drawl when he noticed the cellar door set into the ground. John’s skinny chest puffed out with pride, though if asked he would deny it to his dying day. Between him and Arthur they managed to push aside the detris and get to the rusty lock keeping the doors shut. One hit with the butt of Arthur’s revolver and the lock crumbled into dust, letting them open the doors with the squeal of rusty hinges.

John froze and so did Arthur, both of them listening hard for any signs that someone was around to hear it. John didn’t hear anything and relaxed a bit, moving around his door to look down into the darkness. He had a lantern on his saddle he could go get.

“John,” Arthur whispered, “you hear that?”

“Uh... no,” said John, looking up at Arthur and frowning to see how serious he looked.

“C’mon, boy,” Arthur darted back towards the horses and John scrambled to follow, though he still didn’t hear anything he trusted Arthur completely. Sometimes that led to him getting thrown in a stream but more often than not it saved his life. Together they took their saddles off their horses and Arthur got them to flee further into the woods. They could be found later.   
  
Just as John was starting to carefully go down the old stairs, he heard voices in the distance. Very distant... they may not come over here but John didn’t want to be sitting out in the open if they passed by. He scrambled down the stairs, nearly missing one when he got to the bottom but catching himself on a support post. Arthur was up top getting all the brush over one door and then opening the covered door very slightly to close the other door and reach out with one arm to drag branches and brush over it. Slowly, careful of the rusty hinges, Arthur shut both cellar doors and plunged them into darkness.   
  
John fumbled out his lantern and got it lit, holding it up so Arthur could carry his own saddle down the stairs and light his lantern. “We’ll stay here for a day or two,” Arthur whispered, holding up his own lantern to look around a bit. He whistled, “Now this is... this is weird,” he muttered.

“What?” John turned around with his lantern and finally noticed the chains and shackles hanging from the ceiling. “Whoa.” The cellar was otherwise fairly normal, but the shackles... “Creepy,” John muttered, walking over to look at them.

They were high enough off the floor that a shorter person would be struggling on their tiptoes in them, but John and Arthur could reach up to them and only get up on the balls of their feet. John’s first thought was that they’d found a slave catcher house, but he’d  _ seen _ slave catcher cellars, and they didn’t have shackles hanging from the ceiling, not to mention there was only  _ one _ pair.

Arthur grabbed them and hummed, “They’re lined with fur.”

John set his lantern down on an old desk and reached up to feel inside them, they were a little too high to look at closely, but when he slid his fingers into them they  _ were _ lined with fur, which was just bizarre. Why would someone line shackles with fur? It felt like rabbit fur, and it was a little worn down around the edges, which meant someone had been shackled here and worn the fur away. But the fact that the fur was still there meant that someone hadn’t been shackled long or all the fur would be gone and only the hide left behind.

Arthur stepped back and John stepped closer, lifting both hands to feel both shackles, the chains rattling and swinging from where they were bolted into a support beam above. All at once Arthur was pressed flush against his back, before John could do more than gasp he was grabbed by the wrist and one after the other he was latched into the shackles.

“Arthur!” he snapped, standing on the balls of his feet as he turned around to glare, chains twisting above him. “Very funny--” John looked up and went to undo the latches when Arthur grabbed him by the chin and forced their eyes to meet, standing on the balls of his feet like this he was just a bit taller than Arthur.

“Leave ‘em,” Arthur growled.

“Are you mad?” John breathed, pupils dilating when he saw the look on Arthur’s face in the low light, “we got law on our heels! We...” The excuses seemed to melt away under the heat of Arthur’s gaze.

It  _ had _ been a long time since they’d done anything.

Both of them looked up when they heard branches snap somewhere in the distance, the floor above them was hardly enough to muffle a ton of noise. That branch could have been an animal... or a posse of heavily armed lawmen. John glanced back down at Arthur, breath hitching when he held one finger up against his lips.

“Shh, boy... better be real quiet,” Arthur whispered. He stepped in and forced John to turn back around to face the wall. Sweat trickled down his spine, he could  _ feel _ Arthur’s eyes crawling over his body. John hung his head, the chains clinking softly, and his hair fell across his cheeks and hid his face.

Most of the time their fooling around was done quietly and surreptitiously; unless they were lucky enough to both head out on a hunting trip or a job. Most of the time others were there too, or Dutch couldn’t spare one or the other. John had only recently been able to go on more dangerous jobs, arguing with Dutch that he was a goddamn man and could pull his weight. Arthur had been doing way more dangerous shit by the time he was 16, but John had to wait until he was nearly 20 just to start. He was 21 now and Dutch was  _ finally _ no longer hovering.

A big, calloused hand slid over the back of his neck and gripped, not hard enough to hurt but enough for John to feel scruffed. “Don’t wander on me, boy,” Arthur breathed against the back of his ear.

“I wasn’t,” said John petulantly.

“Liar,” Arthur accused, squeezing until John whimpered and tried to jerked forward, but Arthur was too strong and the chains didn’t give him anywhere to go.

“Fuck you,” John spat, but he was so breathless there was hardly any sting to it.

“You ain’t man enough to fuck me, boy,” Arthur taunted, thumb rubbing up under John’s jaw. He closed his teeth around the shell of John’s ear and bit down lightly. “Besides, this greedy ass needs my cock in it, don’t it?”

“You- you’re so fuckin’ embarrassing,” John  _ tried _ to sound tough, but his cock was betraying him by pressing up against the buttons of his pants in an obvious bulge. All Arthur had to do was sneer or insult him in just the right way and John would be rock hard in moments; and Arthur knew it.

Arthur slapped him on the ass and John yelped, jerking forward so the chains rattled and the ceiling creaked. His big hand quickly moved from John’s neck to his mouth to muffle his sounds. “I said  _ quiet _ , boy!” Arthur’s voice was a harsh whisper.

John breathed heavily against Arthur’s hand, he smelled like gun oil and black powder, sweat and dirt. They were both tense, listening hard. Another branch snapped and very, very quietly as if from a ways away... “Did...hear...”

“...animal...”

“...check... out....”

John whimpered, eyes slipping shut as Arthur growled, “Stupid boy, they were gonna pass us right by.”

“I’m sorry,” John whispered against Arthur’s palm.

“You will be if you don’t keep your trap shut,” Arthur said, keeping his hand tight over John’s mouth while his other hand unlatched his suspenders and unbuttoned his fly. John thrust into open air when his cock was freed, unable to look down with Arthur’s hand over his mouth, pushing his head back just far enough that all he could see was the wall and ceiling.

John shifted on his feet and the chains rattled softly, he hoped to god these sounds couldn’t be heard if whoever was out there passed by this abandoned cabin. Arthur pushed John’s pants down to his knees, further hobbling him, and his free hand slipped between his cheeks to rub against his dry hole.

“Got all tight on me,” Arthur breathed right up against the shell of his ear, “I’m gonna get the oil... don’t move, don’t make no noise.”

John nodded quickly. As soon as Arthur’s hand slid off his face John sucked in a shuddering breath, head hanging and seeing how hard his cock was as it jut out between his thighs. A little bit of clear precum glistened at the tip, about to slide down the shaft. He clenched his hands into fists, desperate to touch himself, but all he could do was stare and listen to Arthur softly rustling through the saddle bags.

“Ain’t nothin’ here,” came a voice from a little ways away.

John jerked his head up, heart pounding in his chest as he heard branches snap as whoever was up there walked around. Travelers? Hunters? Law? There was no way to know. Arthur came up behind him and slid his hand back over John’s mouth, his lips pressing gently against his shoulder.

“Gonna fuck you,” Arthur whispered into his skin, “you’re gonna be silent... don’t let those chains rattle, neither.”

John wanted to protest the corner Arthur had backed him into, he could barely breathe without causing the chains to rattle, he couldn’t imagine how loud they’d get with Arthur thrusting into him. As if sensing his desire to argue, Arthur tightened his grip on John’s mouth. John whimpered softly, eyes slipping shut as his head was pulled back. Warm fingers rubbed against his asshole, slicked with oil and spreading it around.

John’s cock twitched as Arthur finally pushed a finger into him, moaning into his palm as the pleasure curled in his gut. Maybe there was something wrong with him but he loved getting fucked by Arthur. Even the burn and stretch were pleasurable for him, which was good because Arthur’s cock was a goddamn monster that had taken nearly a full night of stretching their first time together. Of course, John was older now, knew all the tricks to taking Arthur fast and hard, staying relaxed through discomfort, learning to  _ love _ the ache.

He shifted a bit and the chains clinked softly. Arthur growled against the shell of John’s ear, sending shivers down his spine. John’s cock twitched as the heat built in his gut, Arthur’s fingers twisting inside him. The gun oil wasn’t ideal, the stretching stung a little as Arthur’s calloused fingers dragged in and out of his tight asshole, but it didn’t stop the pleasure from crawling down his spine to curl in his belly.

Arthur didn’t spend much time preparing him, pulling his fingers free once he’d just barely managed to stuff three inside John. John hung his head but Arthur’s hand curled around his throat and forced him to look back up at the ceiling as he plastered himself up against his back, cock grinding between his cheeks. It was hard to stay quiet when Arthur started to guide himself into John’s asshole, hand tightening over his throat every time John let slip a soft cry or grunt.

“Arthur...” John grit out, pleasure and pain twisting like snakes inside his gut.

“Shh,” Arthur hushed, pushing in inch by inch, hips jerking in and out, going deeper each time. 

The chains clinked softly and above them, to John’s horror, he  _ heard _ someone step onto the floor of the cabin. Arthur, the bastard, didn’t even stop. He froze, eyes wide as he stared up and saw shadows flit between the cracks in the floor. John tried to glance in the direction of their lanterns, hoping to god the light wasn’t coming through to the men above them.   
  
“Must have been an animal,” one of the men grunted.   
  
“I  _ swear _ I’m hearing something over here,” said the man standing on the cabin floor.

John let out a long breath through his nose, trembling as he stood as stiff as he could, pulling on the chains so they couldn’t clink even with Arthur starting to fuck him properly. This piece of shit was going to get them caught as a pair of inverts. John was still painfully hard though, so what did that say about him?

“We can’t spend all day here,” the other guy snapped, “come on, let’s keep going. Old place like this is probably full of rats and raccoons, that’s what you’re hearing.”

“You’re probably right,” his friend muttered. The floor creaked as he walked off it. 

John let out an aborted, strangled sound as Arthur changed the angle of his thrusts, arms trembling with the effort of stopping the chains from clinking or the floor from creaking. John was sweating, felt his hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks and unable to push it away as Arthur started to fuck him ruthlessly, panting against his ear. That drag of his cock in and out, the way his balls slapped against John’s ass, the loudest thing in the room, had him teetering on the edge of orgasm.

Arthur let out a hissing breath, thrusting in deep, and John bit his bottom lip as he felt hot come dripping out around his pulsing shaft to wet his thighs. So close... “Arthur, please,” he begged hoarsely.

Instead of taunting him, like he was prone to do, Arthur reached around and grabbed John’s cock. It only took two quick strokes and he was arching as much as the chains would allow, spilling thickly over the floor. John trembled in the aftermath, sagging in the chains bonelessly as the sharp spike of heat faded into a dull warmth. He needed a goddamn nap.

Arthur pulled out with a sigh, letting even more come drip out of John’s asshole. “Alright, you can come outta those.”   
  
John fumbled with the shackles until he got the latches open and brought his hands down to his chest with a groan grit out between his teeth. His shoulders and back were killing him. Arthur wrapped one arm around his waist and kissed his neck softly, a rare showing of affection, “You did good, boy,” he murmured.

John just grunted, sleepy, sore, and fucked out. 

Arthur laughed under his breath.

He cleaned up with an old rag and got his clothes back in order. They were going to hang around here for a day or two so... John had the feeling that wouldn’t be the last time he ended up in those shackles.


End file.
